


You Can't Spell Menu Without Me 'N' U

by MissMoochy



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man/Deadpool - Joe Kelly (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Awkward Crush, Crush at First Sight, Double Dating, First Meetings, Friendship, M/M, Matt Murdock is a Good Bro, POV Alternating, POV Matt Murdock, Stan Lee Cameo, Wade Wilson is a Good Bro
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25602472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMoochy/pseuds/MissMoochy
Summary: Deadpool contacts Daredevil about a job. He wants Matt to accompany him to a particular cafe and use his enhanced hearing to eavesdrop on the cute waiter, Peter, to find out how he feels about Wade. Peter is good friends with the cafe’s cook, Foggy. Matt thinks it's a stupid idea, but when he meets Foggy, he decides that he and Wade should visit the cafe as much as they can. Rating to change.
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson, Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 15
Kudos: 144





	You Can't Spell Menu Without Me 'N' U

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so in this, all three mutants (Matt, Wade and Peter) have their powers. Wade and Matt know each other and know each other's secret identities but they're not really friends. Matt has never met Foggy. Matt quit Landman and Zack, met Karen and hired her for his own law firm. He's not got much money at the moment because he's sinking it into his company (and employing Karen), which is why he accepts Wade's offer. POVS will change in this fic.

Matt was somewhere between sleep and waking when his cellphone spoke.

**Deadpool Deadpool Deadpool**

“Alright,” he sighed. He grabbed his phone off the nightstand and pressed it to his ear. “Hello?”

“Yo, Zatoichi, got a favour to ask.”

Zatoichi. Matt had never heard the name before, but if he knew Deadpool’s twisted sense of humour, it was probably a reference to some fictional character. A blind fictional character. Mr. Magoo, Blind Fury, Matt had heard them all.

“Deadpool, what do you want?”

“Whoa, is that any way to greet an old friend!”

“We’re not friends.”

“Spoilsport. And anyway, it’s not Deadpool. I’m outta the costume, so you gotta call me Wade Wilson.”

“How am I supposed to know you’re incognito right now?”

“You mean, you can’t, like, smell my clothes through the phone?”

“No,” Matt said flatly. “I can’t.”

“And here I thought you knew everything. So, about my favour--”

“I’m not killing anybody. I think I’ve made it very clear that I don’t approve of your methods.”

“Yeah, yeah, never take a life, yada yada. It’s not about that. I need you to help me with...something else.”

Damn it, Matt was intrigued. “Do you require legal counsel?”

Wade hooted a laugh down the line. “I’ve never met a problem that couldn’t be solved with a bullet, Murdock! No, it’s more like, uh, reconnaissance.”

“Reconnaissance? Like observation?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s just one problem. You don’t have anything I want.”

“I’ll pay you,” Wade said. “Didn’t you quit your job at--where was it?--Waterman and Zack?”

“ _Landman_ and Zack.”

“And those fancy suits don’t pay for themselves. I’ll make it worth your while. And the best part: zero risks. You just come along with me, use your freaky bat-ears to listen to a conversation, report back to me on what was said and I’ll give you a month’s salary as a one-off payment. Easy gig, right?”

He should decline. Who knew what Wade wanted him to listen to? But Wade had a point. Matt's new firm was still finding its feet and with Daredevil’s crime-fighting affecting the neighbourhood, rent was rising now that the streets were safer. He sighed.

“Fine, I’ll do it. Just tell me the time and place.”

* * *

Wade must have been keen for Matt to help him because he paid for him to take a taxi to the location. The destination was a street in Queens. Matt did a bit of Googling to find out what was special about this street. He was expecting to find a shop that was a front for criminal activity, arms dealers, maybe. Or a sketchy bar. Or an abandoned warehouse. Not this.

The street was full of businesses, each more boring than the last. A unisex hair salon. A cellphone repair shop. A cafe. A thrift shop. A used bookstore. And more.

He couldn’t work out which business was important or why. And that ignorance rankled. He wasn’t used to being kept in the dark, pun definitely intended. And he certainly didn’t like to be vulnerable when there was a wildcard like Wade in the equation.

Wade had asked to meet at 11:00 am, Friday morning. Matt climbed out of the taxi at 10:50 and as the car pulled away, he stood still, letting his senses take control and drag in the smells and sounds of the street. He could hear pedestrians walking by, their bodies walking by him, and the occasional roar of a passing car. He could hear the clicking of computer keys from the repair place, he could smell old books in the bookshop, he could smell food from the cafe. There were too many smells and sounds to pick out anything distinct, it was all a clouded haze of motion and scents and he pulled back, retreating into himself, letting the emptiness curl over him once more. He concentrated on controlling his breathing, sinking into a deeper level of calm, but was interrupted by a heavy hand on his shoulder.

He reacted instinctively, digging his thumb into the back of his attacker’s hand, grinding his nail into the veins. The hand left him and the attacker _(tall, heavy tread, male)_ let out a yelp.

“Yeow, watch it, you ninja bitch!” yelled a familiar voice and Matt instantly released him.

“Wade,” he said, politely inclining his head. He didn’t bother apologising. 

“The fuck is up with you? I was a soldier, even I don’t have PTSD like that, fucking Hell!”

“Watch your language.” Matt snapped. He didn’t have PTSD. He had fast reflexes and a low tolerance for bullshit, it was a good thing.

“Oh, shut up, you bible-thumper. God, you’re uptight. And you look like a funeral director.”

Matt frowned. He hadn’t known where they were going or if they would be meeting anybody, so he’d worn a simple suit and tie. It was pretty much his uniform at the office. Starting his own firm was a slog, especially since he needed to hire another lawyer and had been having trouble finding a suitable person. When business picked up, he’d told himself he’d treat himself to a new wardrobe.

From what he could gather, Wade was wearing a t-shirt, some light cotton. He could smell the denim of his jeans, pulling in a faint whiff of mould. Wade’s washing machine must have a damp problem. He told him this, just to remind him of the reach of Matt’s powers.

“What? I smell of mould? _Dude,_ ” Wade sounded upset, which surprised Matt. “I have to go home and change, this is a -- this is a fucking _disaster._ ”

“Don’t worry, nobody else would be able to smell it,” Matt said smugly. He reckoned he was entitled to a little smidgen of smugness. Sometimes, he envied Wade’s healing powers. It was usually the morning after patrol. When every bone and nerve in Matt’s body ached and he could feel every punch and kick from the night before.

“Thank Chri--” At Matt’s scowl, Wade tutted. “Thank our merciful author.”

“What?”

“Never mind. We gotta get going.”

“And where _are_ we going?”

Wade annoyingly said nothing. He had a habit for blabbering on about the most random crap but being tight-lipped about anything relevant. At least, Matt didn’t worry about him telling people about Daredevil’s true identity. Not that anybody would believe a basket case like Deadpool, anyway.

Wade led them (well, he walked and Matt followed with his cane. He didn’t want to put a hand on his arm) to the cafe from earlier. As they drew closer, Matt could smell the aroma of fresh coffee and sizzling bacon. Apparently, Wade could smell it too, because he moaned happily.

“Mmm, bacon. You hungry, four-eyes?”

“You’re paying.” Matt told him.

* * *

As they entered the little cafe, the bell above the door let out a tinkling chime. They were walking on linoleum, Matt noted. He was aware of tables and spindly wicker chairs. He could smell wilting flowers in a vase nearby. There were speakers on the walls and he could hear the faint strains of music, coming out a little distorted and tinny.

Matt followed Wade deeper into the cafe, towards a table at the back. It was close to the counter. He could feel bodies in the room, an elderly male, eating something fried and he sensed two bodies in another room, male as well.

Wade slid into his seat, kicking out a chair opposite for Matt. “There we are. I bet it’s good to get out of that office, eh?”

Matt shrugged. He could hear Wade’s fingers drumming on a laminated piece of paper, presumably the menu. No braille.

“How does this work? Can you see the menu? Can you read it?”

“No, Wade, I’m blind, I can’t read. Not without braille, anyway.”

“You’re Jared, 19, got it. Okay, I don’t know how we’re gonna do this -- oh!” Wade’s heart kicked up a notch as a body approached them, and Matt tensed. Wade’s heart was pounding, and although he might be self-proclaimed ‘balls-to-the-wall-crazy’, he had a good handle on situations and he wasn’t often scared. Matt curled his hand around his cane, under the table.

“Hey, you!” the voice was male, young, maybe early twenties?Matt turned his head, trying to get a read on the guy. _Lean. Uses watermelon-scented shampoo and--ugh--Axe body spray._ He shuffled over -- _his feet are tired from prolonged standing._ _His clothes smell clean but are old. His sneakers are softened with age, the laces are frayed and dragging on the floor._ He’s turned towards Wade, looking right at him. And his heart is getting faster the longer he looks.

When Matt met Wade earlier that day, Wade’s breath didn’t sound muffled, so he knew he was unmasked. A couple of pedestrians had passed them during their brief conversation had glanced at Wade and their hearts would spike in fear or disgust. Matt didn’t know the exact details of Wade’s disfigurement, but he knew it was serious. It surprised him that Wade was happy to gallivant around without a mask. Especially in an enclosed space like this cafe.

“Hi, Peter!” Wade said, his voice a couple of octaves higher than normal. Interesting. His heart was still thudding in his chest and Matt could smell sweat edging its way up Wade’s armpits.

“Back so soon?” the boy chirped.

“You can’t keep me away.”

“You love our fry-ups that much, huh?”

“Uh...yes?” Wade said with uncertainty as if he wasn’t sure. Matt snorted and then winced, feeling pain shoot through his ankle; Wade had kicked him. He was debating whether to aim a kick back, or do the grown-up thing and rise above it when Wade touched Matt’s arm.

“Matt, this is Peter, the server at _The Happy Cup Cafe._ Peter, this is Matt Murdock, my...my friend.”

“Nice to meet you!” Peter said cheerily. “Any friend of Wade’s is a friend of mine.”

Wade’s heart shuddered in his chest. Matt smirked, sensing an opportunity. “Oh, _you’re_ the Peter from the cafe? The one that Wade has been talking about?”

“You talked about me?” Peter asked Wade.

“Uh, Matt, I don’t think--”

Matt put him out of his misery. “Yeah, he’s mentioned you a few times. He said the food here is excellent but it’s only beaten by the five-star customer service!”

Wade breathed out a barely audible sigh of relief.

"Aw, Wade, that is so nice! Just for that, you guys are getting free cappuccinos. Don’t tell my boss.”

Peter turned and practically skipped away, his steps a little faster than before.

Wade kicked him again. “You evil bastard. That took years off my life.,”

“You’re immortal, you can spare a few decades,” Matt shrugged.

“Shh!” Wade grabbed Matt’s wrist urgently. “Listen, Tell me what they’re saying.”

“Who?”

“Peter and the cook. Shut up and listen.”

Matt rolled his eyes but focused.

* * *

There was Peter with his busted sneakers, his apron swishing around his legs.

The other man was...it was hard to tell. He was surrounded by machines, a coffee maker, a dishwasher, all these rattling pieces of metal and plastic.

“Hey, Pete, can I use your charger? My phone’s almost out of juice.” The other man’s voice sounded older than Peter’s but not by much. It was a little lower than Peter’s, not too high, not too deep. But it had a pleasantly lazy warmth to it, as if the man wasn’t terribly bothered if his phone died. It would all work out in the end.

“Sure, hang on.” There was the grinding of a metallic zipper _(a bag?)_ and then something was passed between Peter and the other man’s hands. The phone buzzed as it was plugged in. “Are you expecting a call? Hot guy?”

“Ha, I wish! I’ve been applying for jobs, I’m hoping to hear back.”

“Ah, noooo, don’t leave me!” Peter whined, mock-bereft, and they both laughed as they hugged, the cook clapping Peter on the back.

“They’re hugging,” Matt told him. “Peter and the cook.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Relax, it's just a hug. So...Peter?”

“Shut up,” Wade ground out. “Keep listening. Are they talking about me?”

“No, they’re...oh…”

The other guy, the cook, was talking about--

* * *

_“So, Candace says ‘I’ve decided I’m going to Thailand for six months to discover myself’ and I’m like ‘Can’t you discover yourself in New York? NY’s great, we’ve got everything you need, are you seriously going to go on some zen self-discovery thing just because Derek dumped you?’ And he was a loser, anyway! I knew I didn’t like him when I met him because he didn’t like kids. When he first came over, it was Thanksgiving dinner, right, all the Nelsons. And he comes in and is taking his jacket off, and Zoe comes up to him. She’s one of my cousins, a sweetheart, eight years old, and she gives him a flower crown. It’s not made of actual flowers, she was given this arts and crafts set for her birthday, these are fabric roses and lilies, all that stuff. And she’s been making crowns for the whole family. And I was wearing mine, yellow daisies, if you’re wondering, I looked ridiculous. And she was so excited to meet him, because we all knew he was coming, so she shyly looks up at him and she’s like ‘Here you are, sir, this is for you.’ And you know what that creep does?”_

_“Tell me?” Peter says._

_“He hands it back to her and says ‘I don’t wear jewellery.’ It was ridiculous! We were all wearing these stupid crowns! So, I knew I didn’t like him, right there and then. What kind of man would reject an innocent gift from a child?”_

Matt swallowed against a hard lump forming in his throat. He could think of at least one person like that.

_“But now, I’ve got to do damage control because Candace has called me twice this week and I’m trying to be sympathetic but honestly, I’m relieved, we all are. He wasn’t right for her and we all knew it.”_

_“I’m glad she’s got your guys looking out for her. It must be nice having a big family.” Peter's voice trembled on the last word. Matt made a mental note to ask Wade if the boy had a family._

_“It is. I mean, it can be annoying, and Christmas is expensive but...yeah. You should come sometime. Christmas. We’d love to have you there, bud.”_

_“I don’t know…”_

“Anything?” Wade begged.

Matt didn’t see any need to share what the cook had been speaking about. It sounded private and it didn’t have relevance to Wade’s fascination with Peter. He shook his head. “It’s all waffle.”

* * *

_“Oh, shit, I forgot to say. I need two cappuccinos..”_

_“We’ve got more customers besides old Stan? Forget the coffee, let’s serve up champagne!”_

_“Fog--gy,” Peter giggled._ Matt cocked his head. Surely, he must have misheard that name. 

_“You’re acting very coy, Mr. Parker. If I poke my head out of the kitchen, am I going to see a certain man? A bald chappie with a body like a Greek god?”_

_“Maybe,” Peter said. “He’s got a friend with him. I said they could have a couple of coffees on the house.”_

_“Really? That’s nice. He’s always on his own, I’m glad he’s got friends. What’s his buddy like?”_

_“He’s hot! Not my type, but I want you to take a look at him and tell me what you think.”_

_“Hot?” Foggy said and his tone was disbelieving. “Okay, I’ll take the cappuccinos in so I can get a covert glance at Mr. Darcy. But I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”_

Matt loosened his tie and undid a couple of buttons. He was warm. That’s all.

* * *

There was a swish of fabric, possibly an apron and the squeak of a door opening. Wade looked up as the man walked up but his heart slowed down once he noticed it wasn’t Peter.

“Foggy, hi!” 

Foggy’s body heat occupied more space than Peter’s, he was bigger than him. Peter was willowy, waif-like, something thin and indistinct but Foggy was so solid and real. Like a living, breathing teddy bear.

“Wade! Cappuccino for you and…your friend.” Foggy must have clocked sight of Matt because his heart stuttered. Matt smiled, throwing a wide grin in his direction, one that had made countless hearts race in previous years.

“Thank you. I’m Matt Murdock, a friend of Wade’s. It’s very nice to meet you.”

“Likewise, Matt. Oh, sorry, I’m holding out my hand to shake.” That voice. So friendly and open. It was warm and smooth as melted butter.

They shook hands. Foggy’s hand was dry and smelt of soap.

“My name is Franklin Nelson because apparently, it wasn’t enough that I was a fat kid in the gifted programme, I had to have a name more befitting of an elderly president. Friends call me Foggy.”

“Can _I_ call you that?”

“You can call me whatever you like. Sorry, I mean, uh --”

“ _Foggy,_ ” Matt tried the name. It felt right on his mouth. It was a kind name, one that made him think of rainy nights and thick, knitted afghan blankets. The first syllable pushes the mouth into a pout and the second syllable moulds your lips into a grin. Flirty and friendly. Just like the man himself.

“Matt,” Foggy said softly. His name sounded like a prayer on Foggy’s lips.

Wade, in his usual obnoxious way, slashed through the tenuous thread of connection. “So, can I get a bacon sammich? Or one egg and one bacon?”

“Can we have a few minutes to decide, please?” Matt said.

“Sure. Enjoy the coffees, gentlemen.” Foggy sauntered away, his hair swishing against his shirt collar. 

Matt grabbed a menu and jabbed it in Wade’s midsection.

“Ow! That’s laminated, asshole!”

“Why did you interrupt me? I was speaking to the cook!”

“I’m hungry!” Wade complained.

“Shush, I’m listening.” Matt held up his finger to his lips and instantly, Wade was silenced.

* * *

_Foggy, his steps a little heavier than Peter’s, entered the kitchen._

_“So? He’s hot, right?” Peter said eagerly._

_“Screw you, Parker!”  
_

_“What? Why?”_

_“You send me out, I’ve got spilt ketchup on my apron, I’m hot and sticky, and there’s Zeus sitting out there in red shades!”  
_

_“Zeus? I thought you said Wade was a Greek god?”_

_“Wade’s Hercules or something, I don’t care. Matt Murdock is Zeus, the God of Gods.”_

_“You like him!” Peter sounded like he was smiling._

_“He’s alright,” Foggy said grudgingly. “He’s got nice hair. And a cute smile. And killer bone structure.”  
_

_“Meh. He’s a bit of a pretty boy.”_

_“You’re a bit of a pretty boy!”_

_“I guess. Are...are you gonna leave him your number?”_

Matt sat forward in his chair.

_“Am I gonna write down my number for a blind man?”_

_“He’s blind? Oh my God, I didn’t notice!”_

_“It’s all those late nights studying, buddy, you’re exhausted. You need a Red Bull, dude. Or a jolt of epinephrine.”_

_“I’ve been distracted today…”  
_

_“Yeah, I know why! You were thinking about Wade.”  
_

_“Shut up!”  
_

_“ Oh, Wade, please kiss me! Oh, Wade, please bend me over the counter and pound my sweet as -- mphf!”_

_There was a scuffle as Peter shushed Foggy, clamping his hand to his mouth._

_“Not a word out of you, Fogs! What if they hear us?”_

_“They can’t hear us from the next room, Peter, relax.”_

* * *

“Well?” Wade hissed.

Matt took a breath. “What would you do if I told you Peter liked you?”

“I’d ask for his number. Ask him on a date. You wouldn’t need to come here with me again, you’re probably pumped about that.”

Matt hesitated. He had to play this carefully; Wade wasn’t stupid. “Peter mentioned you but it wasn’t clear what he felt. Um, I’m going to need more time to gather information.”

“Okay, fine. As long you can get absolutely certain. I don’t wanna fuck this up.”

* * *

A few minutes later, Foggy returned. Matt smiled but could sense Wade’s disappointment. Nevertheless, the merc greeted him amicably. “I know what I want to eat! I’ll have B3.”

“Awesome. I eat that all the time. You can probably tell.” Foggy’s arm displaced the air as he gestured down at himself. He brought out a pencil and then there was the scratching of graphite on paper. “I’m sorry, Matt, but we don’t have braille menus. Um…” He pulled out a chair and sat by the table. He was on Matt’s side and his knee knocked against Matt’s as he sat down.

“What do you feel like? You want meat, pastry? Pasta?”

“He wants meat.” Wade blurted and Matt _did_ kick him, this time. Wade’s grunt of pain was gratifying.

“What does the chef recommend?”

“Eating somewhere else! Joking, joking! Please don’t tell my scary boss or I’ll be checking the want ads by the end of the night! I mean, you can’t go wrong with a bacon sandwich. Do you have any diet restrictions or allergies?”

“No. I think I want something…” _Something like you_ would probably be a weird thing to say. Matt compromised. “Something sunny. Sunny and light.”

“Omelette? I make a mean omelette.”

“Yeah. That sounds good.”

“Okay, so we’ve got ham, cheese, mushrooms, spinach…” Foggy grabbed a menu and Matt leaned towards him. Foggy listed the omelettes, taking the time to tell him about the ingredients, while Wade hummed along to the music coming from the speaker above them. Matt didn’t recognise the song. Matt sat and listened, smiling, his head propped up on his hands, elbows on the desk as Foggy went on.

Matt decided on a ham omelette. Foggy diligently scratched at his notepad and bustled off.

“Damn, that guy can talk,” Wade said. The hypocrisy of ‘The Merc with a Mouth’ saying this was absurd, but Matt resisted the urge to point this out.

“They’re supposed to be friendly. You’d be delighted if Peter was prattling on at you.”

“Peter doesn’t prattle. He’s super smart.”

“So is Foggy. I can tell.”

Wade was quiet, except for the rumbling of his stomach. After about a minute, he said: “Do you want to know what he looks like?”

Matt had been internally debating asking him, so he was relieved (and surprisingly touched) that Wade offered. He nodded.

“Okay. He’s around your height but a bit shorter. He’s kind of fat -- ooh, sorry, don’t stab me, not fat. Chubby, then.”

“Tell me about his hair.”

“Long-ish? Thick. Reaches his collar. He's got sideburns."

“What colour?”

“Blond, maybe? Dishwater blond? Blondey-brown? It's hard to tell, I need a Crayola set or some shit."

“ _Blond,_ ” Matt whispered. “He takes care of it. It rustled like silk on his collar.”

“You -- holy fuckballs, you like him! I was just joking earlier, but you, you wanna get it, don’t you?”

Matt buried himself in his coffee. It was delicious. “I don’t.”

“For a bigshot (or up-and-coming-shot) lawyer and a scary vigilante, you’re a terrible liar!”

“I _will_ garrotte you with my tie.” Matt said darkly.

“And I’ll just come back to life!”

* * *

It was Peter who brought out the lunches, to Matt’s disappointment. He set the plates down and fussed around with napkins, asking Wade if he was absolutely sure that he didn’t need anything else and was that enough ketchup for him, blah blah blah. Prattling.

Foggy was singing along to the radio in the kitchen. _Sympathy for The Devil._ Matt grinned to himself, taking a bite of his omelette. He’d asked for a ham one, playing it safe. With such enhanced senses, he had to be careful when ordering from new restaurants. But this was perfect. Fluffy and light but with thick chunks of moist ham. He caught himself moaning with pleasure at a mouthful, something that didn’t escape Wade’s notice.

“You’ve got it bad, bro. But whatever floats your boat. I’m just relieved you don’t wanna take a whack at my guy. Peter’s got an incredible body, it's a crime that you're blind and can't see him. Legs for miles, a bubble butt…”

“A bubble _what?_ ”

“You’re such an old man! A bubble butt is like a round, perky ass.” Wade was a sloppy eater and had a tendency to talk with his mouth full. As he spoke, his mouth ejected flying crumbs. “Come on, spill. Tell me what you like about Foggy.”

Matt considered his answer. “He has a nice voice. Warm, honest. Unpretentious.”

“You get turned on by the weirdest shit,” Wade said thickly around a hunk of bread. “So, we’re gonna come here again?”

Matt dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. “Yes, Wade. We are.”


End file.
